Everything I Tell You is Hearsay

By Dan Simmons

This book is a trap. Don’t start reading it until you have the sequel lined up next to it on your table; madness that way lies.

Hyperion is also the finest piece of science fiction I have read in a good long time. I haven’t had sufficient time to let it sink in and work on me, but I would say it certainly ranks in the top 20 books I have ever read, and given time to travel around my head a few more times, it seems likely to rise yet higher.

This book appeared twice in the last few weeks on the side tables and library shelves of two people the opinions of I respect. It was a funny little coincidence, but I take that seriously, so I picked it up off the library shelf and I took it with me to Hawaii. That in itself was a but of a coincidence too, in that one of the locations of import in the book is a place called Maui-Covenant (true, I wasn’t on Maui, but I’ll call it close enough for Science Fiction). Synchronicity is important to me, and I felt like this book came along at just the right moment. It is about travelling, and the essence of humanity, how we tell each other our stories, and how doing so binds us together.

It is also a very classic post-Earth space epoch. All the standard science fiction structures are there; the seemingly benevolent interstellar empire trying to recreate the best about Old Earth and move past the mistakes seemed to spring from her soil. The fantastic but feasible technology that allows the diaspora of mankind to spread past all human reckoning. The pervasive and piebald mysticism that arises in the face of phenomenon beyond human experience and understanding. Each of these is deftly executed and remarkably robust. In fact that is what makes this novel so extremely satisfying; while it contains each of these standard elements, it treats each as its own critical part not to be neglected in favor of anything else.

Rare indeed is the author who can manage to generate a palpable fear and an equally compelling eroticism. To pair a moving sense of the mystic and a convincing technical vernacular. To give each character a distinct and evocative voice while maintaining a gripping continuity. Not only are these seldom found together in pairs, I have never encountered each and all together in such measure and balance as in this book. Dan Simmon has created nothing less than a masterpiece in this novel by his ability to do so with such grace and artistry.

Hyperion is a planet at the center of a mystery the known universe have been unable to fathom. Phenomenon that defy all of man’s learning and the best of its efforts to unfold persist on this far flung world that has resisted all efforts to bring it into the fold of the Hegemony.  Time works in ways that cannot be explained and a creature known as the Shrike, a four armed creature covered in metal spikes with glowing red eyes roams the outlands leaving death in his wake. Now on the verge on an intergalactic war, seven pilgrims are selected to make a final pilgrimage to the Shrike who, legend says, will grant either a final wish or death.

Each pilgrim seems an unlikely choice in their way, and with no discernible connection either to each other or the Shrike.  As the journey begins and their tales unfold, we begin to see the ways in which a priest, a warrior, a scholar, a ship captain, a poet, a mercenary, and a diplomat are all deeply bound to both Hyperion and each other.  Each character speaks in a distinct and wholly convincing voice. Simmons switches effortlessly between the male and female characters and persuades entirely with both.

To give away more would spoil the pleasure of letting the reader sink into this excellent tale unhampered by expectation. Suffice it to say I found it utterly engrossing and totally satisfying. Funny, moving, horrifying and sexy. It is the best of all that literature has to offer, if you will allow yourself to submit to the Shrike’s dangerous embrace.

Highly Recommended

Retail Therapy; it works!

At least in the short term….

This, for example, would give me a great deal of immediate pleasure! Look how pretty it is!!

I think part of it comes from having such an utter lack of resources for most of my young life. There was never any money to manage, so I had no idea how to do it once I had some of my own. As I said before, I like to acquire things. I have a closet stuffed full of clothes, knick-knacks I’ve owned for half my life, and more purses than you can shake a stick at. I feel almost anchored by my belongings; as though their existence makes me somehow more corporeal. I am conforted when I look around me and see my stuff, ordered and set, each thing in it’s place.

The actual act of shopping though, well.

While going on an outing a few weeks ago with Lyza she lamented that she didn’t think she really had any girl friends who liked to shop. I was flabbergasted. Hodie hears this from the backseat and says

“You didn’t know she likes shopping?? Have you MET her?? I think she might like shopping as much as she likes ME!”

Which is of course, an exaggeration, but… well… you know, not a HUGE one.

Something comes over me. I walk into a store, doesnt matter what kind, I get this feeling in the grocery store too, of an almost narcotic bliss. I would not be surprised if my eyes glazed over in this moment. I become utterly focused and deeply intent on whatever comes to hand. I like to mull and reflect, choose and reject. Feeling fabrics, inhaling scents, picking things up and putting them back. It feels incredibly satisfying to have such power, such pleasure. Shopping is my heroin.

If I could only shop in five clothing stores for the rest of my life, I’d choose:

1) Banana Republic~ Part of the GAP empire, they are about the only place I can find t-shirts that will fit me properly.

2) J.Crew~ In the same way my mother didn’t want me to participate in Yuppie sports, she didn’t want me to dress like I was going to be summering in the Hamptons. Naturally I have always LOVED that style. Get me in front of an Argyle sweater and I positively swoon.

3) Ann Taylor~ Classic, stylish, incredibly comfortable and wearable stuff. Goods are of excellent quality and hold up for years with proper care.

4)H&M~ This is sort of the other end of the spectrum. Quality, not so great, but they are very trendy and the prices are quite low. It makes sense to have a foundation wardrobe of high quality pieces and then throw in some cheap shiny crap for variety.

5) Nordstrom~ Not just because they have excellent quality and selection, but also because they are the only department store in the states that carries lingerie that will accomodate my particular measurements. I used to have to go online and order garments from GB and if they didn’t fit properly, well, as the saying goes “tough titty”

It’s been a long time since I really had the means to go out and buy clothes in any real quantity, but I’m trying to learn to enjoy window shopping a bit more. Like methadone.

And the fact that it is my own fault is both par for the course and in no way comforting.  Analgesic could take many forms but at the moment, nothing is even scratching the surface.

Deep breaths, in the meantime.

It is the first Tuesday in November, and thus, election day. I myself managed to somehow fail to be registered to vote. Apparently when I moved, I didn’t submit a new registration with my change of address. When the well-meaning and earnest young people approached me on the train asking if I’d like to sign a petition, I blithely obliged them unaware my signature would be cast aside, invalid on accident.

When my ballot didn’t arrive along with that of my hosuemate a little light when on in my head, but then I failed to move fast enough to remedy the problem. Disenfranchised via scatterbrain.

This is, however only the 4th election in which I even had an interest in participating. I will shamefacely admit, I have only voted 3 times in my adult life. it wasn’t something my parents did, it always seemed sort of pointless, and I didn’t want to just vote without knowing what the issues were, and being politically well-informed is both moderately challening and intermittently depressing. I didn’t really want to make the effort, nor to cast an uninformed opinion into the sea of careless ballots.

But then. I joined the debate team in college, and I had no choice but to be politically informed. You can’t win a round without a pretty firm grasp on current events, and you can’t help but form opinions once you are exposed to the information. I became a rather rabid NPR listener, and eventually, felt excited about voting. However, this was recently enough that it’s still only been about 4 election cycles since I decided it was worth all the bother. 

And though I realize vote by mail is less expensive, increases turn-out, and is in every way logistically preferable, I am kinda sad I never got to try out the booth…

For those of you that DID your civic duty, my thanks.

and that is not a euphemism.

This fact does explain why I have been having an extra real lot of trouble breathing lately. When I went to investigate the plunking noise, and I looked up, there was an all-too-familiar patch of yuck on the ceiling. This yuck makes my lungs shut down entirely. Suddenly how sick I’ve been lately makes more sense.

So now I have to get the landlord in here. Which means I have to clean my room. This is not my ideal birthday weekend plan, combating mold and suchlike.

Ah well.

“There’s always a siren, singing you to shipwreck…”

Yet, I am my own siren. I seduce myself more fully than anyone else could ever hope to do.

 Also worth remembering:

“Just ’cause you feel it, doesn’t mean it’s there”

I’m dealing with some stuff lately. And I keep wondering how to handle it. And so I ask the oracle and it keeps saying the same thing: you are facing obstacles. So there.

More eloquently:

Have temporary obstacles been blocking your way? In the course of trying to fulfill ambitions, obstructions inevitably present themselves. This is not always a bad thing. Obstacles, difficulties and even setbacks that are eventually overcome often become assets. Without irritating grains of sand, oysters would never make pearls.

The obstacles here are not permanent, yet they are in the way. As when a large boulder falls in the road, the best course of action is usually to go around it, rather than to try to move it out of the way. Temporary obstacles must be seen for what they are — temporary — and should not be allowed to take on too much significance.

A positive aspect of even the most difficult obstacle is that it may cause a person to turn inward, and gain greater depth and character. While the ignorant bemoan their fate and seek to blame their problems on others, the wise seek the cause of the problem within themselves. Through this type of introspection, obstacles become a means for personal growth and self-discovery.

Without air resistance, no plane would ever fly.

If you are facing temporary obstacles, try not to be overly concerned. Obstacles are a part of furthering every relationship. Setbacks and reverses can affect morale, but keeping up your self-confidence in the face of obstacles is part of a successful solution to many of life’s problems. Obstacles of short duration are best handled with a yielding attitude. Go around the rock; don’t put your shoulder to it.

Turns out. I am crappy at being patient and getting around obstacles. Maybe that’s the point….

Sometimes it is nothing more than a few notes drifting through space that will take me entirely out of time; a stray phrase of music, lilting, evocative. Today it was only reminiscent, not even the same music. It simply recalled to mind the tune that moved me so deeply that is has taken up residence, forever, inside me in such a way that mere hints of it will slow my pace to attend the feelings it recalls.

In the dim and distant days over a decade gone, I was madly in love: with a story, wrought in film, rendered with haunting music and steeped in passion. It was like nothing I had ever seen before and it stirred something within me that has never gone to rest. I have always loved movies. They are not merely entertaining, they are important. I am limited by my sight, and thus I see the world in a particular, and perhaps even a singular way. I cannot perceive distance and depth the way that most people do, and so when stories are portrayed through a camera lens, they become level; without varying expanse, more familiar. Yet differences exist in color and shade, shape and pace which inform me about how other people see and brings me closer to them. I care about films, and I believe they can be great and beautiful lessons.

And though I might not have always been able to articulate this, I have always loved movies. But this, oh, this was the first time I was so enraptured by a film that I watched it constantly; every day, sometimes several times, for months on end. I recorded the audio of the entire film through the stereo so that when I was away from home I could listen to it and dream away…

The movie was The Piano. It captured my imagination utterly. It is visually sumptuous and emotionally engaging, but there is nothing as beautiful about it as the soundtrack. Michael Nyman wove tendrils of music seamlessly into a tale of displacement, isolation, and an unexpected ardor. He captures the mood and tenderness with such skill that it is almost as though the music was nurtured inside of one’s own heart; as though it had always lived there needing only a reminder it was there. It is haunting and solemn, lovely and dizzying.

And so I would sit at my own piano, with no training but the trail of my fingers across the keys and the attention of my ear, trying to recreate the music that had been awakened inside of me. I’d sit in front of the piano, gazing out the window and down the south slope of Cooper mountain, and drift away over the fields.
This morning, hearing a hint of something that reminded me of these songs absolutely transported me to that moment, perched on my bench, fumbling at first, then with greater confidence, recreating a feeling I was still just discovering. And it was glorious to discover it again.

If you haven’t seen The Sixth Sense, some of the ranting in this post won’t make sense. Even if you HAVE seen The Sixth Sense, it might not, but I feel like it has to be said: Somebody’s a Fuckin Thief. More on that later…

This book is actually composed of two novellas. The first is called Sabella: The Bloodstone and is a gothic sci-fi mystery romance. Sabella is the preternaturally beautiful and seductive focus of the tale. She narrates the course of her life in vignettes and outtakes slowly revealing that on her far space colony of Novo Mars, she is in fact one of the old inhabitants reborn; She’s a vampire.

It has it’s advantages, but she’s fairly paranoid all things considered. As she puts it “I’m a lady who’s past is all littered with dead gentlemen callers” She didn’t start out as a vampire, and what happened to her is part of the mystery, but she carries around a palpable sense of guilt for her feeding habits and tries in various ways to repent for her sins.

Ultimately she finds herself with a nemesis, Jace. He’s hot on her trail and seems to have a good idea of what she’s been up to. Jace is determined to make her answer for her actions. As she runs away from her pursuer, she runs toward the remnants of the Christian faith, imported from Earth. She finds herself sitting in a church whispering in Latin

De profundus clamave. Ad te domine. Domine exaude voca meam

Out of the depths oh, lord I have cried to you. Hear my voice.*

When Jace finally catches her, he does not punish her as she expects, but shows her a truth that sets her free of her guilt and teaches her a new way to live. And rather than being based on religion, it’s all about sex. I’m for it.

The second novella is Kill The Dead

In this story Parl Dro is a famous exorcist who travels the landscape leaving his legend to grow as long as his shadow at dusk. His history is melancholy and mostly solitare, but when he does come into contact with other people, his energy and seventh sense tend to impact the course of events rather profoundly.

We begin on a hillside on the outskirts of a small village. When Parl comes down out of the mountains, he can sense the presence of the undead in a leaning house by the wayside. It happens that unlike in some cases, where his services are welcome and wanted, here the ghost in residence is there due to the conjuring of her still living witch-gifted sister. She was called back from the spirit world as means to assuage the guilt the still living sister Ciddy felt after she killed her sister Cilny in the first place. She’s a charming girl, really.

When Parl sends Ciddy on her way to the next world, Cilny is incensed and driven to a mad rage that no human means of revenge could ever satisfy. She goes to the length of drowning herself to exact the particular brand of retribution she has picked out for the ghost-killer.

Meanwhile, back in the village, Parl has made the acquaintance of one Mayal; a minstrel who’s skills mark him as singularly gifted, but leave him generally despised. He hopes to write a song which will make his fortune, and when he sees the famous Dro, he decides to follow him about and try to make a ballad from his exploits.

Less than thrilled with this addition to his journey, Parl attempts to leave Mayal behind more than once. Somehow though, Mayal manages to find him nevertheless. After he catches Parl up a second time, it become clear that not only is Mayal following him, so too is the vengeance bent Ciddy. Dro attempts to exorcise her in the customary manner, but for some reason fail to send her away entirely.

Worried that Ciddy has latched on to Mayal as a source of ongoing energy for her weird pseudo-life Parl keeps the minstrel with him to try and rid them both of her presence once and for all.

De profundus clamave. Ad te domine. Domine exaude voca meam

Out of the depths oh, lord I have cried to you. Hear my voice.

*This will be important for the ranting

**This too.

It is hard to be both heartfelt and earnest, while also being world-wise and wry. They usually cancel each other out in a battle-royale style cage match of competing ideals, but somehow in this novel, they coexist. And the comfortable peace they have made with each other results in an excellent read.

This is Alex Shakar’s first novel, but you’d never know it. He is deft and confident in his storytelling. He handles having a protagonist of the opposite gender with great finesse and utter believability, which is rare enough generally, but more so for a man writing in a woman’s voice. There is almost always something missing, or added that should not be. Shakar speaks as Ursula with complete veracity, and I admire that.

Ursula is a character that is altogether easily liked. She is smart and determined, though it isn’t always clear to her just what she is determined to do. She is picking her way through the aftermath of a dramatic family crisis, and trying to build a world around herself that makes sense. She lives in a large city perched on the side of a volcano, and you get the sense that this very clearly demonstrates the volatile energy that both she and the city are possessed by.

For in addition to her own struggle to decide who she is, her younger sister Ivy is engaged in a much more literal struggle to determine this. She’s suffered a psychotic break and is suffering from intense schizophrenia. Somehow the mental and emotional arc of these sisters is remarkably similar, and appears to vary mostly in terms of intensity, rather than content.

The portrayal of mental illness in this book is different than any i have ever encountered. It seeks to discuss it in terms that are immediately relateable and easy for people who’ve never dealt with it to take in. Catatonia is described, rather than being a lack of awareness, as a response to stimulus overload. The body and mind cannot function with all of the input currently in play, and so in self-defense, all systems lock in place to allow processing to take place. Likewise the way Shakar describes Ivy’s paranoia makes it all too easy to see that, she might be crazy, but she also has a point.

At least, Ursula does. She has taken a job in marketing and finds herself trying to absorb all the countless ways in which we are manipulated every moment of our lives, without losing a grip on a kinder gentler version of reality.Her job has essentially become to watch and observe people so as to use the information to compel them to act in a particular way. Not too far from Ivy’s version of the truth, after all…

Throughout the book Shakar drops in little mini-lectures on advertising and the marketing mindset. Having read this novel several years before Mad Men came out, I recognized many of the compelling themes in that excellent show to have been touched upon here. One of the characters Chas delivers a speech to his clients not unlike the one Don Draper gives to his cohorts. How, not only to exploit desire, but how to create it where none currently exists. It is almost a treatise on consumerism, and it is compelling and deeply though provoking.

As is, to my mind, this whole book. It creates a world where there is a serious push toward and market for diet water. Finding the means to sell this absurdity become Ursula’s job, and though she is appalled at the notion of doing so on some core level, she is also seduced by the notion that she might have the skills to do so. The capacity to enchant a whole population into doing her will. Into traveling lite.